


In a Bar

by shakespeareaddict



Category: Almost Human, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Implied Character Death (in the past), John Kennex is Leonard McCoy, M/M, Multi, it's complicated - Freeform, mostly angst, somewhat happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:30:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareaddict/pseuds/shakespeareaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uninformative title is uninformative. It's just John Kennex (who is also Leonard McCoy), the immortal former cop, in a bar after his divorce case, talking to his son about his plans for the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr. This is part of an idea for a longer story I've had for a while. Just as some background--the "war" mentioned is WWIII of Star Trek canon, which in this universe occurred later than it actually did, around 2055ish, and lasted until First Contact in 2063; Eddie is Valerie and John's son, and the Johanna mentioned is also their daughter; Dorian, Valerie and John were in a polyamorous relationship until everyone but John died (or so he thinks).
> 
> Edited for formatting purposes on 1/7/2014.

Eddie finds him sitting in the darkest corner of the dingiest bar in Little Rock with a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a fox-edged picture before him. He comes up silently, and hovers in the older man's periphery while he finishes a glass, slowly, like he's a wine taster savouring some exotic spirit, then refills the glass again, before finally Eddie says "I take it the court case didn't go well."

The drinker does not respond, not even to glare at Eddie, which no doubt sets warning bells ringing in the stander's head. The truth is, he is tired, far too tired for anything; Eddie knows this, of course. Two hundred years of association, especially ones like theirs, breeds an unhealthy amount of familiarity. There are few things he can still hide from Eddie.

It makes gift-shopping pretty hard.

Not that Eddie's asked for, or received, a birthday present from him in the last century and a half or so. There are more important days to observe, anniversaries of occasions they don't mark with gifts but with silence, sometimes stories, and always sobriety (of manner and mind if not of body). In fact they only really celebrate one holiday--August 18. Cease-Fire Day, as Valerie used to call it. It's not something he talks about, though.

That's the crux of his problem. He doesn't talk about anything, he didn't even consider explaining to his ex the whole functional-immortality thing, or even the widower aspect. He doesn't trust. It's not just her. It's not her fault. But he shouldn't have married her if he knew he couldn't and likely wouldn't trust her.

Eddie's sitting down now, their shoulders brushing, a grounding touch. He doesn't want to lean into him, but need wins out over pride and that's what he does. He leans against Eddie like he's completely shit-faced (and he isn't, not completely, he's much too paranoid for that) and chokes down a sob. God, but he's pathetic. He loathes every response he has to things like this; at the same time he knows he can't stop. He is stuck like this, a fool leaning on his son for support after losing what little he still has to a woman he might've maybe loved, once, but not enough and not as much as he loved others.

"What now?" Eddie asks.

"I don't know. Maybe I'll fly up on out and disappear," he says. "Get away." He's not making much sense, but he's past the point of caring.

"Give up everything, then?"

"If that's what it takes."

"Even that town? Why not go back? They don't judge there."

He snorted. "Sure, I could go back to the McCoy farm, and pretend I hadn't taken their dead son's name, that I hadn't studied medicine in his place only to kill his father a month before a cure came out, pretend I've lived my life with those neighbors when they don't know me. I could do it," he adds, almost contemplatively, though he's not as serious as he might sound, "but then what? In thirty years at best I'd have to hightail it out of there. They'd notice I don't age right, I don't act right, and it'd be the same damn thing as leaving now." He finishes his glass quickly this time, a proper shot, and slams it down on the table, not looking at anything but the faux wood grain in the table top. This bar was popular twenty years ago, most likely; it has the decor to match.

"I can't stay on Earth," he finally says, when Eddie's silence gets to be too much. "There are too many memories. Ghosts, building up on the whole damn planet." He swallows nothing, just feeling the motion of it all. "You know which ones."

Eddie's mouth quirks sadly, and that--that's a learned behavior. Eddie doesn't even know he does it. None of them, not Valerie and certainly not he, had ever mentioned it to him, but every time he sees it it's like losing them all over again.

"You do realize neither of them blame you, right? You used to say to Mom that you wish one of you could have been there, with Dorian, just to hold his hand, that he deserved someone who'd be there when he died."

"Stop--"

"--You were there for Mom when she died, you held her hand--"

"--goddamn it, Eddie, don't you  _dare_ \--"

"--and Dorian did what he did for all of us. He wouldn't want you to feel guilty--"

" _Shut up!_ "

He's not standing, but he is panting like he's run a marathon, because how dare he--Eddie doesn't get it--Eddie wasn't--

But Eddie is probably the only person who  _could_  get it, anymore. Valerie is gone. Joanna never knew Dorian; even if she is his daughter, even if she's got the same curse or blessing as he does, she'll never understand because she was just a sliver of hope in absolute hell when Dorian--went away. To Eddie, however, Dorian was the best person in the world, a cool uncle (who just happened to share a room with his parents), a second father, a protector and mentor and, well, everything he and Valerie couldn't be. He'd never not known a time when Dorian was around, until Dorian was never around, and maybe Eddie gets that his dad might feel a bit guilty about how they three were able to leave Vancouver before it was wiped off the map and Dorian couldn't.

So "I'm sorry," he says, trying to force some rationality back into himself. "I didn't mean--I'm sorry."

Eddie nods, waves at the bartender. A moment later two horrendous attempts at Cardassian Sunrises are in front of them. Eddie downs half of his in one go, while his father takes a small sip.

"What will you do, then?" he says after a moment. "Jo's headed for Deneva, I'm sure she'd be happy to have you join her."

He shakes his head  _no_. He knows what that'll be like. He doesn't want anything familiar for a long time, he thinks, and maybe that's a bad way of looking at things but they've got enough time, the three of them, that it probably won't matter if he doesn't see his children in person for a few decades. They're too careful to get killed in a stupid accident or make enemies crazy enough to kill them, and they won't get most diseases. They'll live long enough for a reunion after his new career finishes.

There's a flier in his pocket, which he pulls out and shoves at Eddie. "I think I'll join Starfleet."

Eddie's silence is incredulous. "Dad, you're terrified of flying and you hate Starfleet," he points out.

The other man rolls his eyes. "I do not hate Starfleet. I hat _ed_  NASA."

"Which turned into Starfleet."

"Stop being pedantic."

"You're serious?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Eddie huffs out a breath. It turns into a small, rueful laugh a moment later. "My father, aviophobic Starfleet cadet." He shakes his head as he stands. "Well, when are you leaving?"

"There's a shuttle out of Riverside in two days."

"You planning on hitchhiking?"

He glares at Eddie, who's suppressing giggles through sheer force of will. "Would  _you_  attack me on the highway?" he dares.

"I'd be too afraid of the reverse," he responds, giving up the struggle and laughing aloud again, but for real this time. "You look like a real wildman. You need a shower, too, if you're going to get any takers."

"You're not a bed of roses, yourself."

Eddie's already leaving, a tip and enough to settle the bill on the table, but before he hits the door he turns and calls across the room, "Cadet McCoy has a nice ring to it!"

And then Eddie's gone, and he is alone, though not in a bad way this time.

Cadet McCoy.

It's not his real name--it's nothing like Detective John Kennex. But it'll do for a few more decades, he muses. After all, there's no need to create a whole new identity with matching files when he's still got a perfectly good one.

His leg doesn't act up when Doctor (soon Cadet) Leonard McCoy stands, pockets the picture, and leaves as well.


End file.
